


Arranged Marriage ABO AU

by romanoff



Series: snippets/WIPs [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Fluff, M/M, Omega Tony Stark, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 12:40:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15606501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanoff/pseuds/romanoff
Summary: Tony and Steve make a marriage of convenience. Naturally, they end up catching feelings along the way.





	Arranged Marriage ABO AU

**Author's Note:**

> When I'm bored/lack inspiration, I upload all my WIPS and let people select which ones they like best. So, let me know if you like!

**2012**  
   
They sit him in the room and tell him to wait.  
   
A woman with a tablet and her hair swept up in a bun gives him coffee. Cheap, filtered shit from the communal pot. Steve knows shit coffee; he had a lifetime of it, back when he had a life.  
   
He drills his fingers against the – what is it? The word. Polystyrene, that’s it. He drills his fingers against the polystyrene cup, listens to the clock tick. He wonders if he should have dressed up; he’d thought about it, laid out his uniform, with its medals and stars. He’d pressed it, and hung it up on the back of his door before he went to sleep. Had put it on in the morning, then taken it off. It feels too showy. Too grand. He doesn’t even know if his omega will like that sort of thing, and besides, he doesn’t want to stick out. At least, not more than he already does.  
   
He had thought about him last night. The omega, the future Of Rogers. They’d shown him a picture, but Steve had lost the copy. He remembers brown hair, brown eyes, tanned skin, like diluted coffee, milk chocolate, the fur of a doe. Doe eyes, certainly; he hadn’t been unattractive, which… doesn’t mean much, in the long-run. These sort of arrangements aren’t known for inspiring bursts of passion.  
   
“It’s like… keeping it in the family,” Fury had said, when he was trying to sell it to him. “He’s Howard’s boy. And he’s – temperamental, yes, but more importantly, he’s _feisty.”_  
   
When Steve had been sold, he’d continued. “You never know,” he’d said. “Sometimes love comes from the strangest places, Captain. I don’t want to press this, but if not him… we’re going to find someone else. We won’t stop here.”  
   
Steve had overheard, a few days later, the _real_ reason Fury was pushing Stark: he was clever. He uses the screen, the computer, to put in his name. It had come up with results about his genius, his skill as an engineer, his patents, all the technological advancements he’d achieved, and his on-going stint as the Iron Man, a wondrous impenetrable metal suit.  
   
He also hears they only way SHIELD is letting him on the team is if he has an alpha. If he’s bonded. So for Fury, it’s a win-win. He gets Rogers, he gets Stark and, hopefully, he’ll get a few super smart babies down the line, too. That is, if Stark puts out. Not that Steve would make him; hell, he doesn’t even know if _he_ wants to put out. He doesn’t think he wants this at all.  
   
He tried to imagine him at night. His smile, his hands, his eyes. He’d try to imagine in him other ways, too; he’s only human. But without the picture, Stark’s face had become blurred, a mass of brown. He remembered it imperfectly. He didn’t ask for another portrait, and he didn’t bother to search him again.  
   
Truth is, he’s lonely. He knows he’s lonely. Desperately, dreadfully, achingly lonely. An alpha like him, young, unbonded, he _needs_ a mate. That’s what the doctors told him, in a long, jargon-filled talk. Steve can put it more plainly: a needs a good fuck, and someone to come home to.  
   
He hopes Tony is kind. He hopes they can share something, some values, at least. He must be a brave omega, doing what he does. He must be altruistic. Maybe they’ll be a good fit. Maybe Tony will be selfless, and kind, and sweet. Maybe he’ll laugh. Maybe one day, he’ll be lying in bed, and Steve will bring him breakfast, and it’ll be good, and real, and –  
   
The door opens. A small man stumbles through, wearing a white shirt and leather jacket. He’s got aviators on. Indoors. His hair is messy, like he didn’t bother to brush it in the morning, and he stinks like alcohol, covering his natural scent, whatever that may be.  
   
He looks around the room, comically exaggerated, the stops on Steve. “You’re Rogers?” He asks. “Captain America?”  
   
“Yeah. That’s me.”  
   
The man steps forward and gets his foot caught in a chair. He stumbles, curses, tries to right it but gets it tangled with leg of the table. He stands there, banging the metal seat against the floor in an attempt to set it straight, then gives up and lets it fall on its side, dented and broken. An awkward silence ensues.  
   
“Anyway,” the man says, straightening, “hi.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Tony. Stark. I’m here to marry you today.”  
   
Steve burns himself standing too quickly and spilling coffee on his shirt. “Oh,” he blurts, “shit. I mean – “ crap, fuck, fucking fuck shit fuck. “Hi. Hello. Yes – Tony. You’re Tony, that’s – that’s good. I – “  
   
Tony shakes his hand, smirking. “You okay there?”  
   
“I burnt myself,” Steve says, obviously.  
   
“Well that’s okay. Serum’ll take of that, right?”  
   
Right. But Steve will have to get married in a coffee stained shirt, looking like he’s pissed himself. “It’s fine,” he says, going for a joke. “Now we can both be dressed down.”  
   
Tony’s nose wrinkles. “I’m not dressed down.”  
   
Fucking, fuck, shit, fuck, balls, crap, shit, fuck. “Sorry,” Steve tries to backtrack, ears burning. “I mean – you know, we’re both, uh. Neither of us dressed for the occasion. I mean – where’s your veil, right?”  
   
Another crappy joke. It’s impossible to see what Stark’s thinking with his eyes covered. “Would you like me too?” He asks, evenly. “I could probably get someone to go out and buy – “  
   
“No! No, sorry, that was – me being stupid, again. Sorry.”  
   
Stark’s mouth creeps into a lopsided smile. “It’s fine,” he says. “No worries. Relax, dude. I’m not gonna bite your head off. I’m supposed to be the one who’s trembling in my boots, blushing bride and all.”  
   
“Are you?” Steve asks, without thinking. What he means is, ‘are you scared?’ But what Tony takes that to mean is…  
   
“If you’re asking if I’m a virgin, the answer is no,” he says bluntly, lips twisting downwards. “Is that going to be a problem? They were supposed to tell you…”  
   
“It’s not,” Steve says hastily. “It’s really, really, not a problem.”  
   
“I’ve never been claimed though, so I’m not _entirely_ sloppy seconds. Well, sloppy thirds. Fourths. You get the idea,” he smirks. “I get around a lot.”  
   
“Great,” Steve says, trying to sound like that doesn’t bother him. It’s not the concept of promiscuity that bothers him, or the idea that Stark has had men inside him who weren’t Steve; it’s just that Steve _hasn’t._ A few, covert fucks on the trail, in brothels, the occasional farmer’s daughter. He’s patently aware he has no skill, no expertise, and a man like Tony – who so clearly knows what he likes –  
   
He wonders if he’d expected Tony to be submissive. It must be strange for him, having to live in a world where all the rules say he should be a certain way, and yet _not._ If it weren’t for his softer frame and tell-tale omega scent, Steve wouldn’t have known. He doesn’t carry himself like _any_ of the male omegas he’d known Before.  
   
“I hear you and my old man were friends,” Stark says, making conversation. “Well, I mean – when I say I heard, it’s all he ever talked about. He’d be thrilled to know we were shacking up. Dream come true.”  
   
“He was a good man,” Steve says, weakly.  
   
“No he wasn’t,” Stark smiles. “But he was my dad. Can’t pick family.”  
   
Right. Not even your spouse, apparently.  
   
The door is opening again. “Good,” Fury says bluntly, “you’ve met. Hope you find each other agreeable enough.”  
   
Stark is flapping with his jacket, patting it down. It’s loud, and makes a show of it, pulling out a small packet. “Gum?” he says, offering it to Fury, and then Steve. They both refuse. Tony doesn’t seem to have a problem with taking two and chewing noisily. “Sorry,” he whispers loudly, following Steve out the door. “I was drinking. Trust me, you’ll be thanking me later. Nothing worse than whiskey breath.”  
   
His fiancé, ladies and gentleman.  
   
Tony’s guests consist of a woman with red hair who can’t stop looking at her phone, and a large, middle-aged man who can’t stop looking at her. He’s wearing a tuxedo. He’s the only one. And Steve doesn’t have any guests.  
   
Stark is rubbing his temples. “Should we just get this over with?” He asks. “Do I sign something, or…”  
   
“Steve signs first,” Fury prompts, pushing the form in front of him. He doesn’t even read it. He just signs in the three places it requires. Tony does the same, loosely scrawling his name under Steve’s. His chewing is obnoxiously loud; he still hasn’t taken off the sunglasses.  
   
“Is that it?” Stark asks, throwing down the pen, careless.  
   
“That’s it,” Fury says, folding his arms, checking his watch. “Congratulations.”  
   
“Whoop-ti-fucking-do,” Stark mutters, and he finally pushes his glasses back on his head. His eyes are exactly how Steve remember; large and brown, like a baby deer’s. “Husband,” he smirks.  
   
“Wife,” Steve says, mouth dry.  
   
   
They take a picture for posterity. Someone prints it and hands it to him as they leave, large and shiny. Stark has his sunglasses pushed back on his head, eyes wide like he didn’t expect the flash, lips set grimly. He stands in motion, hands a blur, apart from Steve, who tries to smile, but looks like he’s about to cry.  
   
   
They travel in separate cars to the hotel. There’s supposed to be a reception, guests, friends, family, but it turns out Stark has no family, and only two friends.  
   
“Virginia,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’m CEO. You can call me Pepper, everyone else does.”  
   
“Pepper,” Steve smiles, hopes it doesn’t look as awkward as it feels. “And he is…”  
   
“Happy. Well, Harold. But you can call him Happy. Tony’s big on nicknames, as I’m sure you’ll discover.”  
   
“Hopefully,” Steve says bracingly, and Pepper gives him an almost sympathetic smile. Or maybe it’s just pity. Either way, it’s kind.  
   
“For what it’s worth, I don’t see anything changing,” Pepper tells him, sitting at the table and letting Happy and Tony handle the drinks from the bar. “He may be Of Rogers, but he won’t need – you know, upkeep or anything. You’re free to be with other people if you want, he wouldn’t stop you.”  
   
Shouldn’t Tony be telling him this himself? “Well – the same to him, I guess.”  
   
Pepper’s voice dips. “I know, uh. Part of your arrangement. For the next few weeks I know you’ll need to – share a bed. Together.”  
   
“Right. For my health.”  
   
“Sure. I don’t know what kind of man you are, Rogers, and I wouldn’t like to presume, but – you’ll be gentle with him, won’t you? You won’t hurt him, or push him to do something he doesn’t want to do. I know sex doesn’t mean much to him, it wouldn’t to me if I went into heat every month and had to just get on with it, but – still. Put my fears at ease.”  
   
“Pepper,” Steve starts, using her first name. “I have no intention of ever – “  
   
“Shots,” Tony slurs, slamming they tray down on the table. “I got started. You guys can finish.”  
   
“I don’t get drunk,” Steve says.  
   
Tony stares at him, like he’s just said he eats babies. “You what?”  
   
“I can’t get drunk. I metabolize it too fast.”  
   
“He can’t drink,” Tony says, disbelieving. He turns to Pepper. “Pep, he can’t drink.”  
   
“I know, sweetie, I heard.”  
   
“Well what the fuck – what are we supposed to do then? If you can’t drink – “  
   
“We could play a game?” Steve suggests.  
   
Tony looks a little like he wants to be sick. “I’ll be right back,” he mutters.  
   
“He’s nervous,” Pepper says, looking at her phone. “He’s not usually like this,” she tells him, apologetic. “Hold on, I just need to take this call.”  
   
She slides out of the booth, leaving Steve in the empty bar with the great hulking man in the tuxedo. “Hi,” he says.  
   
“Hi,” the man says shortly, sipping a beer.  
   
“I’m – Steve.”  
   
“I’m Happy,” he replies, dourly.  
   
An awkward silence. “So, how about the weather we’re – “  
   
“If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.”  
   
“Noted. I think I’m just going to head on up to the room.”  
   
   
Steve eats peanuts and watches cable in the bedroom until Tony smashes down the door.  
   
“Oh husband!” He calls from the living room of their suite. “Honey, I’m home!”  
   
He’s lost his shirt and is bending over the mini-fridge, rifling through. “You took the peanuts, huh?” He says, cracking open a mini bottle of champagne.  
   
“Is that a problem?”  
   
“No. I’m paying. Or I mean – you’re paying, because you own everything. You can do whatever the hell you like.” He slams the fridge door with his foot, just a little too hard.  
   
“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “You – don’t sound happy. Have I – if I’ve said something, or done something, I apologise. I shouldn’t have left, I know, but your friend was giving me the stink-eye – “  
   
“I’m happy,” Tony says, downing the little bottle in one. “Why wouldn’t I be? Married. At long last. And to such a handsome, gallant, man. A captain, no less.”  
   
Steve frowns. “I feel like you’re mocking me.”  
   
“Because I _am,”_ Tony spits, scathingly. “Are you just going to stand there? Get naked. How do you want me?”  
   
“I – stop. Backtrack. Stark, if I’ve said something – “  
   
“I’m not Stark. I’m Rogers. Get it right.”  
   
“Sorry. I mean – Tony. If you don’t want this, tell me now. I’ll file an annulment in the morning.”  
   
“It’s not about _want._ Do you want this?”  
   
Steve straightens. “No,” he says defensively. “At least not like this.”  
   
“Oh God,” Tony mutters, then starts to laugh. “You _do_ want this, of course you do. You wake up seventy years past your sell by date and get given the most eligible bitch in town and told ‘go forth’. Sorry I don’t meet your expectations. This isn’t 1945, honey.”  
   
“You’re putting words in my mouth.”  
   
“You’re not disagreeing.”  
   
“Alphas like me,” Steve says, quietly. “We get married. We get bonded, quick. The doctors think I’m lonely. I don’t really know – they say I just need an omega. That’s what they told Fury, and that’s what he told me when he said _you_ were looking for an alpha. That’s it. I don’t want this anymore than you. I had people. I’ve loved other people. In my mind, they’ve only been dead a few weeks. I just – don’t want to fight,” he finishes, lamely.  
   
Tony is silent. He rubs a hand over the bright, glowing battery in the middle of his chest. That’s how Fury had described it – he’d called it a battery, and said it helped keep him alive. Steve figures that’s what people do now; they don’t just die, like they used to. They can use technology to keep themselves alive.  
   
“I need to be bonded,” Tony mutters, “or they won’t let me on the team.”  
   
“The team?”  
   
“The – team.” Tony waves a hand. “It’s a thing. I’ll explain, later. People keep trying to take my suits. Weirdoes, terrorists, the government. They say I’m an extreme liability, because I’m not bonded, no alpha in my life. Omegas – well, omegas like me, we’re not allowed guns, you know. There are loopholes, and I’m exploiting – well, all of them I guess.”  
   
“It must be important to you,” Steve says, carefully. “To put yourself through this.”  
   
“I thought, uh. That because you were Captain America – everyone says you’re good, you know? That you’re a good guy. And you’re young, and not – displeasing to look at,” Tony adds, begrudgingly. “And you knew dad, so it’s like – “  
   
“Keeping it in the family.”  
   
“Right. So Fury gave you the same spiel.”  
   
“Pretty much word for word.”  
   
“But we both know what Fury gets out of this,” Tony adds, cynical. “He gets me, under control, through you. He gets you nice and fucked and sated. If he’s really lucky, he might even get a baby.”  
   
“No,” Steve says hastily, “I would never – we barely know each other.”  
   
“That didn’t stop my parents, for all it was worth.” Stark smirks; it takes Steve a second to realise he means him, that he wasn’t worth it. Because he’s omega.  
   
“I’m sure they – “ what? Loved you? Jesus, Steve, you barely know him! He doesn’t need to hear that from you!  
   
   
   
 **2014**  
  
“Husband,” Tony says.  
   
He’s red, like he ran the way to Steve’s apartment. He comes to DC from time to time, but never asks to see him. Now, though, he’s standing in Steve’s doorway, flushed, and panting like he’s run a race. “You’re not busy, are you?” He asks, pushing his way in.  
   
“Nice to see you too. Do you usually – Jesus Tony!”  
   
He’s pushing down his pants and starting on unbuttoning his shirt. “I flew,” he says, flapping with his clothes, “I flew from, uh – New York,” he manages, like he’d forgotten it’s name. “Flew all the way here, just for you, bad boy. So if we could – you know, get this over with – “  
   
“You’re in heat.”  
   
“Yeah,” Tony says, like that was self-explanatory from the start.  
   
He can smell him, now. Ripe, heady, begging to be bred. Steve rubs his hands over his face, points to the door. “Get out.”  
   
“Get – why?!”  
   
“Because you can’t – do this. You can’t not talk to me for months and then turn up at my door because you need my dick, that’s not – no. Out. Get out.”  
   
“Steve!”  
   
“What am I supposed to think? We’ve been married a couple years, Tony, this isn’t the first heat you’ve had. You might as well fuck another guy in front of me for how obvious – “  
   
“I was suppressing,” Tony snaps, “I have a health condition. So I take legal suppressants, prescribed by my doctor, fuck you very much. I don’t just pick random men off the street, Steve. This is my first heat in – “ he braces a hand on the coach, clutches his belly, continues. “My first heat in years!”  
   
“You should have called me.”  
   
“Yeah, well I’ve had other fucking priorities!”  
   
A beat. “When you say you flew – “  
   
“Not in the suit,” Tony bites, scathing, “I’m not that irresponsible. And you can’t play with yourself when you’re the pilot.”  
   
(Unbidden. Tony, in a plush leather seat in one of his luxury planes. One leg thrown over the armrest, the other held up by a hooked arm, toes curling, fucking himself with his fingers and too desperate to care who can hear – )  
   
“Do you want some water?” Steve asks.  
   
“Are you going to fuck me, yes or no?”  
   
“Do you want some water?” Steve repeats. “You look like you’re about to drop.”  
   
Tony relents. “Yes,” he says, “fine, fucks sake. Get me some water.”  
   
He can hear Tony stripping off the rest of his clothes, cursing, banging furniture. Steve runs the tap a bit, let’s it cool. He doesn’t return straight away. He can smell him, scent him, he can _smell_ the desperation. It would be cruel, awfully cruel, for Steve to turn him away in his hour of need.  
   
He pours the water down the sink, runs the tap, waits for it to cool.  
   
“What is taking so long?” Tony shouts. “Are you writing a fucking novel? Piss or get off the pot!”  
   
He’s knocked Steve’s coffee table to the side and thrown all the couch cushions onto the floor, never mind that Steve likes them on his couch. “Finally,” he breathes, “give it to me,” he demands, reaching for the water.  
   
Steve does. He watches Tony dribble some of it down his chin, and chest. It marks out lines in his sweat-stained skin. He takes back the glass, sets it aside. Unzips his fly, and pulls himself out.  
   
Tony groans. He crawls, on hands and knees, presses his nose to Steve’s groin and _inhales,_ like it’s the greatest damn thing he’s ever had in his life. “Get down here,” he orders, tugging Steve’s wrists and pulling him onto the cushions. “C’mon just – let’s do it. Now.”  
   
Steve slowly strokes himself to fullness, but it’s not really necessary; the smell of Tony is tipping him over, hitting all the right buttons in his brain, pushing him into rut. He plants his feet on the floor and beckons, invites a slathering Tony onto his lap.  
   
The flesh is weak.  
   
Tony is pressing hot, wet kisses to his neck. “Smell so good,” he breathes, “take it out. Take it out, now.”  
   
Take it out? Steve’s hands drift to Tony’s ass, between them, where he means to gently finger him. His skin meets plastic; nestled in his hole, a thick, wide rim, which when pulled yields a plug the width of a forearm. It’s wet, smelling of Tony’s secretions, his _fluid,_ and Tony groans, wiggles his ass, near enough begs.  
   
“Now put it in,” he says, digging his nails into Steve’s shoulders. “Do it, do it. Get in me, just do it!”  
   
Steve, ever chivalrous, and never one to deny his omega, obliges.  
   
Tony does the legwork. He doesn’t touch Steve, not really, he touches himself; scratches his nails down his neck, plays with his own nipples, tears at his hair as he bounces. Steve wishes he could still his wandering hands, stop them. He wishes he could cuff them, tight, unyielding, and have Tony try and fuck himself with such gusto when can’t move his arms.  
   
He feels like a sex toy. Just another plug. Tony directs him, puts him on his back and pushes himself up and down, up and down, up and down, as long as it takes him to finish. Steve shuts his eyes; he imagines. In his head, Tony is cuffed and gagged, a metal contraption that keeps him quiet and keeps him open, spreads his cheeks and makes him drool. He’s desperate, and grateful, and touches Steve like he loves him.  
   
He thinks Tony would hate him, if he knew what he really thought. What he really wanted. That under all the bluster, and goodness, he’s just one more sick alpha with desires and lusts that would make a hooker blush.  
   
Steve knots, finally, and with a lack of choice, Tony falls onto his chest, nestles his head in Steve’s throat. It’s not so bad, like this. Like this, Steve can pretend he has someone. It’s not so lonely.  
   
   
Tony stays on his floor for two days. Steve carries him through the worst of the heat, then cares for him when all he can do is lie, insensate and exhausted, spread out on the cushions.  
   
On the third day, he wakes up and Tony is gone. He’s left a note stuck to the coffee pot:  
   
 _Thanks babe. Let’s do it again some time maybe? Don’t be stranger!_  
  
He crumples it, and throws it in the trash. His pillows are permanently stained with Tony’s scent, overpowering. He’ll buy new ones. For now, he can pretend.  
   
   
 **2015**  
   
Steve slams the papers down onto the table. “Wife,” he says, cordially.  
   
“Husband,” Tony smirks, tearing his eyes away from his phone. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
   
A waiter hurries over and interrupts. Tony orders them both pasta without asking Steve what he would prefer. “For you,” he says, pushing the papers to Tony’s side of the table.  
   
“What is this?”  
   
“Divorce.”  
   
Tony frowns. He looks up. “What?”  
   
“I said, _divorce._ Isn’t that what you want?”  
   
Tony blinks. “Are you crazy?” He blurts. “Are you – is there someone else?” He assumes, straight away. “There’s someone else, isn’t there.”  
   
“No. But SHIELD is gone. Fury is dead,” he lies, “you don’t owe anyone anything. You fulfilled your end of the bargain, I fulfilled mine. Done deal.”  
   
Tony leans forward, mutters, covert. “Steve is this – is this about money? The suits? You’re not going to get them, I have good lawyers, I’ll push this all the way to the Supreme Court if I have to – “  
   
Steve scoffs. “I don’t want your fucking money. I don’t care about your suits. We don’t talk. We don’t live together. You _ignore_ me. You – can you even look at me? In the eye? _”_  
   
“Steve, I – “  
   
“Have your lawyers take a look. Get back to me. I’ll pick them up on Monday.”  
   
He stands, abruptly, and turns to leave. Tony grabs his arm, curls his fingers in his sleeve. “Steve, wait,” he says, staring ahead, voice low. People are twisting in their seats to see the scene. “Just – sit. Let me talk.”  
   
“Look at me.”  
   
“Sit, and we can talk about it.”  
   
“ _Look at me,”_ Steve growls. His voice goes low, he can’t help the steel that slips in. Tony looks up, their eyes meeting. He’s not messing about, Steve realises. He’s a mix of anxious, and maybe a touch of genuine fear.  
   
Steve sits.  
   
“You can’t divorce me,” Tony mutters, laying the napkin on his lap, smoothing it down. “If you divorce me, I won’t be able to fly.”  
   
“Excuse me?”  
   
“Did you not hear what I said? If I don’t have an alpha – “ he had raised his voice in irritation, so now he lowers it, covert. “If I don’t have an alpha,” he starts again, “if I’m not _bonded,_ they won’t let me fly. I can wear the suit, but – fat lot of fucking good if I can’t actually pilot the damn thing.”  
   
Steve narrows his eyes. “Since when.”  
   
“About a year ago.” Tony picks at the napkin, twists it round his fingers, willing it to tear. “Some kid tried to get into military, hid his breed. Said he wanted to be a pilot. It’s never actually happened before, so there weren’t any rules against it, but… well, now there are. And they were pretty specific that no male omega is allowed to fly a craft or vehicle without a bond. Stabilising influence,” Tony mutters, bitterly. “Like fuck.”  
   
“So you’ll find someone else to marry.”  
   
“That’s – a risk for me, Steve. If marry them and they get everything. Not everyone’s like you. There are people who would use me – “  
   
“Rhodes. Rhodes will marry you.”  
   
“I can’t do that to him.”  
   
“But you can do it to me?”  
   
“We’re _already married.”_  
   
“What if I have found someone else?” Steve asks, eyes narrowed. “What if I want to marry her?”  
   
Tony looks away. “Then I can’t stop you,” he says, quietly. “It’s not like I can stop you now anyway. You don’t need my signature, not really.”  
   
He won’t meet Steve’s eyes. He’s staring at his hands, phone discarded.  
   
It’s not about him, Steve thinks. It’s not about Tony, or even about what he wants. It boils down to whether Steve is willing to let the world go without Iron Man out of spite.  
   
“I have conditions,” Steve says.  
   
Tony looks up. “Conditions?”  
   
“When the teams moves back to New York, you’re going to live with us.”  
   
“Okay,” Tony agrees, immediately. “Fine. No sweat.”  
   
“Glad you agree. We don’t need to share a bed, but you need to be _there,_ and you need to show people we’re making this work.”  
   
“Fine.”  
   
“I have events,” Steve continues. “Veteran’s ball, charities. If I’m invited, you need to be there too. I turn up by myself, even after they’ve sent me two tickets, and people wonder what the fuck must be wrong with me that my omega doesn’t live with me, and I’m never seen with him.”  
   
“If it bothers you that much, sure.”  
   
“It _does._ You need to at least pretend, Tony. Do you understand – of course you don’t,” Steve sighs.  
   
“Do I understand what?” Tony asks, confrontational.  
   
“Do you understand what it’s like? To have people constantly – sniping at you, behind your back? Mocking you? They say I’m not alpha enough, Tony, and I’m starting to think their right. Just – put out. No, not in bed,” Steve scoffs, looking at Tony’s face, “I mean just make an effort. If I’m staying in this marriage for you, you have to help me somehow, some way.”  
   
“Fine. I’ll put out. I’ll tell everyone you’re the most gracious, most skilled alpha, and you can tie a cherry stem with your tongue. Is that enough?”  
   
“That’s perfect, actually,” Steve snaps, feeling antagonistic.  
   
“Great. Good. And rub your feet every day, too, and make your breakfast. And your dinner. And walk around stark naked and let you touch my neck and sit on your lap like a good little bitch, how about that?”  
   
The restaurant is suddenly very quiet. Steve clears his throat, awkwardly. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart,” he smiles, sickly saccharine.  
   
Tony doesn’t like feeling boxed in, Steve realises. Now, _Steve_ is in control. Tony needs him. It gives him a strange, sick pleasure. He maybe even pities him.  
   
Imagine that. Steve pitying Tony instead of the other way around. He hasn’t forgotten their wedding day, or the way he mocked him on the wedding night. He remembers thinking he would never not be intimidated by this man.  
   
But now the tables have turned.  
   
“Another thing,” Steve adds, “I want couple’s therapy.”  
   
“Wow,” Tony drawls, sharp, “you really think we need it, baby?”  
   
“If we’re going to be married, we have to learn to stand each other.”  
   
“Fine.”  
   
“Fine.”  
   
“Can I go now?”  
   
“What? After you ordered food?” Steve smiles. “I thought you wanted me to stay.”  
   
He could go. He could get up and leave, walk away. But instead, he flattens the napkin on his thighs, fixes himself back to Steve. “Whatever you want, my love,” he says, blunt.  
   
   
   
   
   
“Oh please,” Steve scoffs. “You’ve never been innocent in your life.”  
   
“I was innocent,” Tony grins. “Well, once upon a time, anyway. Not since I was seventeen.”  
   
“Seventeen, huh?”  
   
“Yeah, well. They get us started young, you know?”  
   
“Sure. Litte naive Tony, not knowing what hole to put it in.”  
   
Tony kicks him, playfully. “I can be naive.”  
   
“Sure you can.”  
   
“I was naive,” Tony says, this time a little more forcefully. “I didn’t spring into the world, fully formed and cynical.”  
   
  
   
   
“Let’s go,” Tony mutters, “c’mon. Please.”  
   
Irritation flares. “We can’t. They haven’t even read the names.”  
   
“And? We’ll just say you were – “  
   
“Tony, I’m not leaving.”  
   
Tony fixes his face into that obstinate, sneering glare. “You hate these.”  
   
“Right, but I’ll look like a fucking idiot if I leave now, and they call my name, and I’m not there. Could you just – do this for me, wife? For once? Just _do_ something for me?”  
   
It’ll embarrass him. When they call his name, and Tony isn’t there, people will _know._ They’ll whisper, like they always do. Steve hates it. All he has to do is stay an extra thirty minutes, smile and clap when they call Steve’s name, and then he can _go._  
   
   
   
“Get out the way,” Steve gasps, pushing, shoving, “move out of the fucking way – “  
   
No one has helped him. Of the small crowd, gathered and watching, murmuring to each other, no one has lifted a finger. He’s curled on the opulent red carpet, naked. His clothes are gone; they’ve taken them, or at least, someone has. He’s trying to shield himself as best he can, but he’s not – there, he’s not present, not really. Tony’s eyes are glassy. “They took my clothes,” he mumbles, as if imploring. “I don’t have any clothes.”  
   
Steve is shucking off his jacket and draping it across his body. “Tony,” he whispers, pressing a hand to his flushed cheek, “Tony, Tony, are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you – “  
   
It’s hard to think, with the raw rage pressing against his brain. Tony scents – all sticky, with confusion, and shame, and something disgustingly not-right, other alpha’s scents. “I tried,” he says, blinking, pulling the jacket around himself, “I asked them not to take my clothes. I’m sorry. Embarrassed you, I’ve – I’ve embarrassed…”  
   
He trails off, losing his train of thought. Spacey, out-of-touch, Steve files the symptoms and ignores the swelling, crashing pain in his chest, in his belly. _They touched him,_ his hindbrain roars, _they touched him and hurt him and took his clothes and left him like a dirty rag –_  
   
“Sweetheart I’m not embarrassed,” Steve soothes, aware that Natasha is corralling evil, pathetic bystanders away. “I want to know if you’re hurt. You smell hurt. Do you need a doctor, sweetheart? Tony?”  
   
Tony is shaking his head. “Want to go home,” he mutters.  
   
Wants to go home. Yeah, he does. That’s what he told Steve, earlier. _Please. Just let me go._  
   
“Who did this?” Steve whispers, urgently. “What are their names? Did you see their faces? Tell me. I’ll hurt them, Tony. I’ll strip them and shove my fucking shield up their asses – “  
   
Tony winces, recoils. “Stop, don’t,” he says, slurring like he’s drunk. “Please, just take me home. Don’t let – did they see? I don’t want people to know. Can we go home now?” He asks like a child, hopeful that a parent will give them permission. His fingers are curling in Steve’s shirt, tight and tighter. “I can wait in the car,” he whispers, “please don’t make me go back out there.”  
   
“I wouldn’t,” Steve swears, “I won’t. Here, Tony, I’ll take you. C’mon, we’ll go home.”  
   
“He needs a hospital,” Natasha says, over his shoulder.  
   
“No hospital,” Steve and Tony say at the same time, Steve snarling, Tony tremulous, begging.  
   
“I don’t want them to know,” he whispers in Steve’s ear. “I don’t want anyone to see. Are you sure they’re gone, all of them? They’ll tell people. You need to stop them telling – “  
   
“Natasha’s already on it,” Steve says firmly, nodding at her. “She going. She’ll slit their throats before she lets anyone know what happened.”  
   
Bruce is sprinting down the hallway, glasses askew. “Natasha paged me. She said – “  
   
“Tony’s been hurt. He needs to go home. No hospital.”  
   
“Right. Right, I – “ Steve can tell Bruce is trying hard not to be shocked. “We can rent a room here for the night.”  
   
Tony shakes his head rapidly. “Stop it, no. Just take me home. _Please.”_  
  
   
Steve scoops him up, shields him. Natasha has cleared the way. “Drive,” Steve tells Bruce, shortly.  
   
Tony is shivering. He must be cold, Steve thinks, stomach twisted. Of course he’s cold.  
   
   
“Would you like to wash?” Steve asks, quietly. “I can help you.”  
   
Tony shakes his head.  
   
“That’s okay. Should I leave the light on?”  
   
Tony nods.  
   
Steve can see he’s having trouble with the covers, all of the pillows and the layers, so he pulls it back for him, throws all the stupid, extra pillows onto the floor. “I’ll leave some water,” he says. “Anything else?”  
   
“My box,” Tony tells him, in a tiny voice.  
   
“Your box?”  
   
“In closet. At the back. Shoebox. The shirt, please.”  
   
   
“Tony?” Steve asks, blearily. “Is that you? What’s wrong?”  
   
“Can I sleep here?” Tony whispers. “My bed is cold.”  
   
It’s a poor excuse, as far as excuses go. “Sure,” Steve mumbles, pulling back the covers. “Just – yeah, sure.”  
   
They’re a width apart. Steve finds it hard to drift, knowing he’s _there,_ right _there;_ after a time, he hears his breathing start to even, and drag, and he knows Tony has slept.  
   
He rolls, seeking out Steve’s warmth. They’re facing one another, and Steve tries not to recoil in panic. Tony buries his head in the place where Steve’s shoulder meets the mattress, tangles a leg around his leg, an arm around his waist. Steve is silent, still, a statue, shtum; Tony doesn’t rouse. He just sleeps like that, touching him.  
   
   
The food he brought has been left untouched.  
   
Tony hasn’t left the bed all day. He says he’s not feeling well. Steve doesn’t know what to do, other than take that at a face value.  
   
   
   
“Steven,” Tony smiles. He’s washed his hair, finally washed off the muck and scents from his skin. His shirt is nearly pressed, his shoes shiny, his face glowing. _He’s back,_ Steve thinks, with utter relief. Thank God, thank fuck, Steve didn’t know what to do. “I made you breakfast.”  
   
Steve takes his earbuds out of his ears. “You really didn’t need to.”  
   
“Yeah, well. I wanted to. Eggs, scrambled, with a side of French toast, syrup, and bacon. That’s how you like it, right?”  
   
It is. Steve didn’t know Tony had noticed. Thoughtfully, he’s made a stack of ten toasts. “Didn’t you know you could be so domestic, wife.”  
   
“Well I figured the instinct was buried somewhere in me, husband.” Tony raps his nails against the counter. There’s a brief silence. “You wanna eat?”  
   
“Uh, sure,” Steve starts, sitting at the island. Tony plates up a heap of eggs, four slices of toast, six slices of bacon, and drowns it in syrup. “You going to sit?” Steve asks him.  
   
“Already ate,” Tony lies, obviously.  
   
“It’s good,” Steve tells him, shoving the first wary forkful into his mouth. “You practice?”  
   
“I can make eggs, Steve,” Tony says disparagingly. He looks down. “Actually, I – I wanted to say thank you.”  
   
Steve focuses on chewing, stares at his plate. “For what?” He mumbles between bites.  
   
“For, uh. I mean – I know I’m – that I’ve been difficult. I guess – yeah. Uh. I just wanted to say thank you. For being kind to me, because you didn’t have to be.”  
   
“Tony…”  
   
“It just – it felt good, you know?” Tony stares pointedly at his fingers, scratches a nail over the marble, voice small. “No one talks to me now that I’m yours. They all think I’m off limits, especially since you’re so… you. I missed it, being the centre of attention, which – I know, I’m vain, and stupid. But no one has taken an interest in so long, so when they – “  
   
Tony looks up, and he looks mildly concerned. “When they were nice to me, and kind, I thought I’d make you jealous, I guess. Which is – bad. I’m not a great wife, I know I’m not. I was too stupid, too wrapped up in _that_ to see what they were doing. And by the time the drug took hold…”  
   
“Tony, it wasn’t your fault.”  
   
“Yeah. Right.”  
   
“Tony, it _wasn’t.”_  
   
“I humiliated myself. I humiliated you. I know I embarrass you,” he says, awkwardly, “I’ve always known it’s hard for you to be with someone like me, that I’m not – what you want, and people judge you for it. And now, everyone knows I was – what I did, and I’m a loose, dirty slut, and they think you can’t get a hold of me when that’s not it, I’m just – “  
   
“Did you want to go with them? Did they tell you what they were going to do?”  
   
A beat. Tony shakes his head. “They said they had a surprise for me,” he mumbles.  
   
“You were drugged. You weren’t thinking right.”  
   
“Yeah, no shit. That’s not the point. The point is I – shouldn’t have done it in the first place. I’m trying to apologise, okay? I’m trying to say, I’m sorry for being shit, and I’m sorry that everyone thinks you’re a fucking cuckold with a dirty little slut for a wife.”  
   
“I don’t accept your apology.”  
   
Tony frowns. “What can I do? What can I do to make it up to – “  
   
“No, Tony. I don’t – there’s nothing to apologise for, alright? Fucking hell, even if there was – and there isn’t! – you were assaulted, I think that would be enough – “  
   
“For what it’s worth, I tried to stop them,” Tony interrupts, abruptly. “You know, I didn’t – didn’t want it, or anything. I tried to make them stop, they just… didn’t.” He looks at Steve, as if waiting for something. What? Approval? Some kind of recognition?  
   
“Who were they?” He asks. “You must have seen their faces.”  
   
“It doesn’t matter.”  
   
“Tony, what if they do it to someone else?”  
   
“There’s always someone else,” Tony mutters, “doesn’t matter if you stop them, some other alpha somewhere will find a way to take advantage.”  
   
“Tony!”  
   
“What? It’s true.”  
   
“You don’t want to bring them to justice?”  
   
Tony laughs, bitter, twisted. “Steve, one or two of them _were_ justice. I – look, I don’t want to bring it up again, okay? I don’t want to make it into a big deal, bigger than it is. Some guys roughed me up, boo fucking hoo – “  
   
“Tony, they beat you, stripped you, and used you like a rag, what part of that seems _natural_ to you?”  
   
“The part where it’s happened before and it’ll probably happen again,” Tony snaps. “Just drop it, okay? I know who they are, I’ll make sure they don’t do anything like this anyone else again. But you need to _stay out of it._ I don’t belong to you. I don’t need you to fix this for me, to go charging in like a knight in shining armor. Just _drop it.”_  
   
   
“Tony, you wore sunglasses to our wedding. Indoors.”  
   
“Only so you wouldn’t see I had been crying.”  
   
“What?”  
   
“Yeah,” Tony says listlessly, tucking his chin on his knees. “Did you think I was happy? Thrilled? You think I saw myself marrying a guy who – I thought, when I got married, it would be because he loved me.”  
   
“But you seemed so – “  
   
“What.”  
   
“You were laughing at me. And that night, when we – you _laughed.”_  
   
“Did I?”  
   
“Yes! It – bothered me!” Steve exclaims, putting it fucking lightly.  
   
“I was a bit out of it, Steve. I’d had a lot to drink. And you’d said those things about me not being dressed up, and I thought, fuck, he doesn’t like me. I panicked. If I don’t like you, worst that can happen is you get some bruised feelings. If you don’t like me, I lose everything, and probably get a black eye and a few broken bones for good measure.”  
   
“You didn’t seriously think I’d hurt you,” Steve scoffs.  
   
Tony turns to look at him, guarded. “I don’t know, Steve,” he says quietly, “you always seem nice at first.”  
   
You. Him? Or maybe not. All alphas, perhaps.  
   
He halts. Turns back. “Anyway,” he says, “I panicked. But I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings on our wedding night, it wasn’t my intention, I was drunk and scared. For what it’s worth – you were real kind. And sweet. And – even though I was scared at first, I wasn’t by the end. Which means more to me than being ridden hard and put away wet, okay?”

**Author's Note:**

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